The Gay Lord Quex by Arthur W. Pinero

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_THE GAY LORD QUEX_

[Transcriber's Notes: The following changes were made to the e-book edition
of this book: potegee changed to protegee, and punctuation normalized]

_All applications respecting amateur performances of this play must he
made to Mr. Pinero's agents, Samuel French, Limited, 89 Strand, London,
W.C._

_THE GAY LORD QUEX_

_THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO_

Paper cover, 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s. 6d. each

_THE TIMES_
_THE PROFLIGATE_
_THE CABINET MINISTER_
_THE HOBBY-HORSE_
_LADY BOUNTIFUL_
_THE MAGISTRATE_
_DANDY DICK_
_SWEET LAVENDER_
_THE SCHOOLMISTRESS_
_THE WEAKER SEX_
_THE AMAZONS_
_THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY_
_THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH_
_THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_
_THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY_
_TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"_

THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY MYRA HAMILTON
With a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s. 6d.

_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_

_THE GAY LORD QUEX_

_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_

_By ARTHUR W. PINERO_

_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_

_MCM_

_Copyright, 1900
All rights reserved
Entered at Stationers' Hall
Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A._

_THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY_

THE MARQUESS OF QUEX
SIR CHICHESTER FRAYNE (Governor of Uumbos, West Coast of Africa)
CAPTAIN BASTLING
"VALMA," otherwise FRANK POLLITT (a Professional Palmist)
THE DUCHESS OF STROOD
JULIA, COUNTESS OF OWBRIDGE
MRS. JACK EDEN
MURIEL EDEN (her sister-in-law)
SOPHY FULLGARNEY (a Manicurist)
MISS MOON }
MISS HUDDLE } (her Assistants)
MISS CLARIDGE }
MISS LIMBIRD }
A YOUNG LADY AND OTHER PATRONS OF MISS FULLGARNEY
SERVANTS AT FAUNCEY COURT

_This Play was first acted at the Globe Theatre, London, on Saturday,
April 8, 1899_

_THE FIRST ACT_

ESTABLISHMENT OF SOPHY FULLGARNEY, MANICURIST
AND DISPENSER OF ARTICLES FOR THE TOILET,
185 NEW BOND STREET

(AFTERNOON)

_THE SECOND ACT__

AT LADY OWBRIDGE'S. THE "ITALIAN GARDEN,"
FAUNCEY COURT, RICHMOND

(EVENING)

_THE THIRD ACT_

A BOUDOIR AND BEDROOM AT FAUNCEY COURT

(NIGHT)

_THE FOURTH ACT_

IN BOND STREET AGAIN

(THE FOLLOWING DAY)

_The action of the Play is comprised within the space of twenty-four
hours_

THE GAY LORD QUEX

THE FIRST ACT

_The scene represents a manicure establishment in New Bond Street. It is
a front room upon the first floor, with three french-windows affording a
view of certain buildings on the east side of the street. On the left,
furthest from the spectator, is a wide, arched opening, apparently
leading to another apartment, in which is the door giving entrance to
the rooms from the staircase. Nearer, there is another french-window,
opening on to an expanse of "leads" and showing the exterior of the wall
of the further room above-mentioned. From the right, above the middle
window, runs an ornamental partition, about nine feet in height, with
panels of opaque glass. This partition extends more than half-way across
the room, then runs forward for some distance, turns off at a sharp
angle, and terminates between the arched opening and the window on the
left. That part of the partition running from right to left is closed on
its left side and forms, therefore, a separate room or compartment.
Facing the audience, on the right, is a door admitting to this
compartment; and, on the left, also in the, partition opposite the
windows on the right, is an opening with a looped-back portiere. The
space between this opening and the further room forms a narrow anteroom,
containing articles of furniture visible through the opening. Mirrors
are affixed to the right wall, between the lower and the middle window
and between the middle window and the partition, while on the left,
between the window and the partition, is another mirror. A number of
business cards are stuck in the frames of the mirrors. On the right,
before each of the two lower windows, turned from the spectator, is a
capacious arm-chair, made in cane open-work. Attached to the arms of
these chairs are little screens--also made of cane--shielding in a
measure the occupants of the chairs from observation. Upon both the
right and left arms of these chairs are circular frames, in cane, shaped
to receive bowls of water Above each of the screen-chairs stands a
smaller chair, set to face the larger one; and beside the small chair,
on its right hand, is a low table, upon which are arranged the
instruments and toilet necessaries employed in the process of manicure
On the right, between the window and the partition is a three-cornered
what-not, on which are set out packets of soap and of powder and other
articles of the toilet. At the further end of the room, in the centre,
stands a desk laden with account-books; and above the desk, its back
against the partition, is a chair. On the right is a hat-and-umbrella
stand. Nearer, in the centre, is a large circular table on which are
displayed bottles of scent and liquid soap, cases of instruments for
manicure, and some wooden bowls of bath-soap with lather brushes. On the
right and left are ordinary chairs. Placed against the partition on the
left, and facing the audience, is a cabinet, making a display similar to
that upon the what-not. Nearer, on the left, there is another
screen-chair set to face the audience; below it is a smaller seat and,
by the side of the smaller seat, another little table with manicure
tools, &c. Some framed photographs of ladies hang against the wood-work
of the partition and in the wall-spaces; and in the lower and middle
windows, on the right, bird-cages are suspended._

_The light is that of a bright day in June._

[_On the right_ MISS CLARIDGE _and_ MISS HUDDLE _are in the final stages
of manicuring two smart-looking men. The men occupy the screen-chairs;
the manicurists--comely girls in black frocks--sit, facing the men, upon
the smaller seats. On the left_ MISS MOON _is rougeing and varnishing
the nails of a fashionably-dressed young lady, whose maid is seated at
the table in the centre._ MISS LIMBIRD _is at the desk, deep in
accounts._

MISS MOON:

[_To the young lady._] You won't have them _too_ red, will you?

YOUNG LADY.

Not too red--nicely flushed.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

[_Examining his nails critically as he rises._] I say though, that's a
vast improvement!

MISS CLARIDGE.

Getting more shapely, aren't they?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

Thanks awfully.

[_He pays_ MISS LIMBIRD, _stands talking to her for a while, and
ultimately strolls away through the opening in the partition. After
putting her table in order_, MISS CLARIDGE _goes out the same way,
carrying her bowl of water and towel._

MISS MOON.

[_To the young lady._] Have you had your hand read yet, madam, by any of
these palmists?

YOUNG LADY.

Heavens, yes! I've been twice to that woman Bernstein, and I don't know
how often to Chiron.

MISS MOON.

Ah, you ought to try Valma.

YOUNG LADY.

Valma?

MISS MOON.

He's the latest. Ladies are flocking to him.

YOUNG LADY.

Really?

MISS MOON.

Yes. Such taking manners.

YOUNG LADY.

Where does he--?

MISS MOON.

186--next door. [_Indicating the window on the left._] You can see his
waiting-room from that window.

YOUNG LADY.

Is he a guinea or half a guinea?

MISS MOON.

Oh, he's a guinea.

YOUNG LADY.

That's a bore.

MISS MOON.

Ah, but consider, madam--his rooms are draped from ceiling to floor in
blue velvet. Blue velvet! fancy! Not that I've had the privilege of
viewing them myself; Miss F. is our authority.

YOUNG LADY.

Miss F.?

MISS MOON.

I beg your pardon--Miss Fullgarney. Valma is quite neighbourly with Miss
Fullgarney.

[_A door-gong sounds--as it does every time any one enters or quits the
establishment--signifying that the first gentleman has departed._

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

[_Rising._] Much obliged. [_Putting a tip into_ MISS HUDDLE'S _hand_.]
For yourself.

MISS HUDDLE.

Much obliged to _you_.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

You're a fresh face here?

MISS HUDDLE.

Yes; I used to be with Mossu and Madame Roget in Mortimer Street.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

I'll ask for you next time. What name?

MISS HUDDLE.

Miss Huddle.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

Huddle?

MISS HUDDLE.

Well, p'r'aps you'd better ask for Miss Hud-delle; I fancy Miss
Fullgarney is going to alter me to that.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

[_With a nod._] Goo'-bye.

MISS HUDDLE.

Good-day, sir.

[_He pays_ MISS LIMBIRD _and goes out. The maid rises and hands the
young lady her gloves._

MISS MOON.

[_Taking a card from the mirror._] Would you like a card of Valma's,
madam, just to remind you?

YOUNG LADY.

[_Accepting the card and reading it._] "Valma. Palmist. Professor of the
Sciences of Chiromancy and Chirognomy. 186 New Bond Street." [_Giving
the card to her maid._] Keep that.

[_The door-gong sounds._

MISS MOON.

[_Opening a window._] Look, madam. That's one of his rooms; the window
there--the open one--

YOUNG LADY.

Yes, I see. Thanks. Good-morning.

MISS MOON.

Good morning.

[_The young lady pays_ MISS LIMBIRD _and goes, followed by her maid_.

MISS HUDDLE.

[_To_ MISS MOON] What time is it, dear?

MISS MOON.

[_Putting her table in order._] Half-past one. Lunch-time.

MISS HUDDLE.

Thought so; I've sech a vacancy.

[MISS HUDDLE _goes out, carrying her bowl and towel, as_ FRANK
POLLITT--"VALMA"--_appears at the window on the left--a well, if rather
showily, dressed young fellow, wearing a frock coat, white waistcoat,
and patent-leather boots. He is handsome in a commonplace way, and,
though stilted and self-conscious, earnest in speech and bearing._

POLLITT.

[_Looking in._] Excuse me--

MISS MOON.

[_Startled._] Oh! oh, Mr. Valma!

POLLITT.

[_Entering._] Is Miss Fullgarney in the way?

MISS MOON.

[_Gazing at him in modest admiration._] She's with a lady in the private
room, Mr. Valma.

[_The door in the partition opens._

SOPHY.

[_From the private room._] Oh, no, madam, I promise I won't forget.
Certainly not, I take too much interest in your daughter's nails for
that.

MISS MOON.

This is her.

[_A middle-aged lady enters from the private room, followed by_ SOPHY
FULLGARNEY. _The customer pays at the desk while_ SOPHY _rattles on._
SOPHY _is a pretty, elegant, innocently vulgar, fascinating young woman
of six-and-twenty._

SOPHY.

[_With the air of the proprietress of a prosperous establishment._] Oh,
yes, it did slip my memory to come on Thursday, didn't it? The truth is
I had a most racking head, a thing I never have--well, I oughtn't to say
never have, ought I? [_To_ MISS LIMBIRD.] Now, Miss Limbird, see that
two pots of Creme de Mimosa are posted to Mrs. Arment, Carlos Place; and
book me, please--_me_--you thoroughly understand?--to attend upon Miss
Arment to-morrow evening at seven. [_Accompanying the customer, who now
withdraws._] To-morrow evening at seven--without fail. [_Raising her
voice._] The door, Miss Claridge. Good morning, madam. Good afternoon.

[_The door-gong sounds._

SOPHY.

Come, girls, you can get to your lunches.

[MISS LIMBIRD _leaves her desk and goes out._

MISS MOON.

Here's Mr. Valma, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_With a little gasp._] Mr. Valma. [_Approaching him._] How do you do?

POLLITT.

[_Advancing._] Pardon me for the liberty I have taken in again crossing
the leads.

SOPHY.

[_Looking away from him._] No liberty at all.

POLLITT.

I desire a few words with you, Miss Fullgarney, and it struck me that at
this time of the day--

SOPHY.

Yes, there's nothing doing here just at lunch-time.

POLLITT.

Perhaps you would graciously allow me to converse with you while you--

SOPHY.

[_Regaining her self-possession._] Oh, I had my lunch an hour ago; I
came over so ravenous. [_Going to_ MISS MOON, _who is still lost in
admiration of_ POLLITT--_in a whisper._] Be off, child. Don't stand
staring at Mr. Valma.

MISS MOON.

[_In_ SOPHY'S _ear._] I think I've got him another!

SOPHY.

Shut up!

[MISS MOON _withdraws, with her bowl and towel._

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Did you catch what she said? Oh, it doesn't matter if
you did; you know we are all working for you, like niggers.

POLLITT.

[_Tenderly._] Ah!

SOPHY.

Not a customer leaves my place without having heard your name mentioned.
My girls are regular bricks.

POLLITT.

[_Approaching her._] And what are you?

SOPHY.

[_Looking away again._] Oh, I do no more than any of the others.

POLLITT.

Do you expect me to believe that? you, their queen! No, it is _you_ who
have helped me to steer my bark into the flowing waters of popularity.

SOPHY.

[_Nervously._] Extremely pleased, I--I'm sure. [_He is close beside her;
a cork is drawn loudly. They part, startled and disturbed. She goes to
the opening in the partition, raising her voice slightly._] Girls,
can't you draw your corks a shade quieter? Nice if somebody was coming
upstairs!

MISS LIMBIRD.

[_In the distance._] Very sorry, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT, _as she toys with the articles upon the circular table._]
Everything is so up this weather. It's their lime-juice champagne.

POLLITT.

[_By her side again--suddenly._] I love you!

SOPHY.

Oh, Mr. Valma!

POLLITT.

I love you! Ever since I had the honour of being presented to you by Mr.
Salmon, the picture-dealer next door, I have thought of you, dreamt of
you, constantly. [_She brushes past him; he follows her._] Miss
Fullgarney, you will accord me permission to pay you my addresses?

SOPHY.

[_In a flutter._] I--I am highly flattered and complimented, Mr. Valma,
by your proposal--

POLLITT.

[_Taking her hand._] Flattered--no!

SOPHY.

[_Withdrawing her hand._] Oh, but please wait!

POLLITT.

Wait!

SOPHY.

I mean, I certainly couldn't dream of accepting the attentions of any
man until he fully understood--

POLLITT.

Understood what?

SOPHY.

[_Summoning all her dignity._] Oh, I'll be perfectly straight with
you--until he fully understood that, whatever my station in life may be
now, I have risen from rather--well, I may say _very_ small beginnings.

POLLITT.

What matters that?

SOPHY.

Oh, but I beg your pardon--it does. [_Relaxing._] I am sure I can depend
on you not to give me away all over the place?

POLLITT.

Miss Fullgarney--!

SOPHY.

[_After a cautious glance round._] You know, Mr. Valma, I was always a
self-willed, independent sort of a girl--a handful, they used to call
me; and when father died I determined to have done with my step-mother,
and to come to London at any price. I was seventeen then.

POLLITT.

Yes?

SOPHY.

Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, really; still, I did begin life in
town--[_with an uneasy little laugh and a toss of the head_]--you'd
hardly believe it!--as a nursery-maid.

POLLITT.

H'm! I am aware that is not considered--

SOPHY.

I should think not! Oh, of course, in time I rose to be Useful Maid, and
then Maid. I've been lady's-maid in some excellent houses. And when I
got sick of maiding I went to Dundas's opposite, and served three years
at the hairdressing; that's an extremely refined position, I needn't
say. And then some kind friends routed me out, [_surveying the room
proudly_] and put me into this.

POLLITT.

Then why bestow a second thought upon your beginnings?

SOPHY.

No, I suppose I oughtn't to. Nobody can breathe a word against my
respectability. All the same, I am quite aware that it mightn't be over
pleasant for a gentleman to remember that his wife was once--[_sitting
in the screen-chair_] well, a servant.

POLLITT.

[_By her chair._] It would not weigh on my mind if you had been
kitchen-maid [_pointing out of the window_] at Fletcher's Hotel.
[_Looking about him._] It's this business I don't care for.

SOPHY.

This business!

POLLITT.

For _you_. If you did no more than glide about your rooms,
superintending your young ladies! [_Sitting, facing her._] But I hate
the idea of your sitting here, or there, holding some man's hand in
yours!

SOPHY.

[_Suddenly ablaze._] Do you! [_Pointing out of the window._] Yet you sit
there, day after day, and hold women's hands in yours!

POLLITT.

[_Eagerly._] You are jealous of me?

SOPHY.

[_Panting._] A little.

POLLITT.

[_Going down upon one knee._] Ah, you do love me!

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Fondly.

POLLITT.

And you will be my wife?

SOPHY.

Yes.

POLLITT.

[_Embracing her._] My dearest!

SOPHY.

Not yet! suppose the girls saw you!

POLLITT.

Let all the world see us!

SOPHY.

[_Submissively, laying her cheek upon his brow._] Oh, but I wish--and
yet I don't wish--

POLLITT.

What?

SOPHY.

That you were not so much my superior in every way.

POLLITT.

[_In an altered voice._] Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_In a murmur, her eyes closed._] Eh-h-h?

POLLITT.

I have had my early struggles too.

SOPHY.

You, love?

POLLITT.

Yes. If you should ever hear--

SOPHY.

Hear--?

POLLITT.

That until recently I was a solicitor's clerk--

SOPHY.

[_Slightly surprised._] A solicitor's clerk?

POLLITT.

You would not turn against me?

SOPHY.

Ah, as if--!

POLLITT.

You know my real name is Pollitt--Frank Toleman Pollitt?

SOPHY.

I've heard it isn't really Valma. [_With a little shiver._] Never mind
that.

POLLITT.

But I shall be Frank to you henceforth, shan't I?

SOPHY.

Oh, no, no! always Valma to me--[_dreamily_] my Valma. [_Their lips meet
in a prolonged kiss. Then the door-gong sounds._] Get up! [_They rise in
a hurry. She holds his hand tightly._] Wait and see who it is. Oh, don't
go for a minute! stay a minute!

[_They separate; he stands looking out upon the leads._ MISS CLARIDGE
_enters, preceding the_ MARQUESS OF QUEX _and_ SIR CHICHESTER FRAYNE.
LORD QUEX _is forty-eight, keen-faced and bright-eyed, faultless in
dress, in manner debonair and charming._ FRAYNE _is a genial wreck of
about five-and-forty--the lean and shrivelled remnant of a once
good-looking man. His face is yellow and puckered, his hair prematurely
silvered, his moustache palpably touched-up._

QUEX.

[_Perceiving_ SOPHY _and approaching her._] How are you, Miss
Fullgarney?

SOPHY.

[_Respectfully, but icily._] Oh, how do you do, my lord?

[MISS CLARIDGE _withdraws._ FRAYNE _comes forward, eyeing_ SOPHY _with
interest._

QUEX.

My aunt--Lady Owbridge--has asked me to meet her here at two o'clock.
Her ladyship is lunching at a tea-shop close by--bunning is a more
fitting expression--with Mrs. Eden and Miss Eden.

SOPHY.

[_Gladly._] Miss Muriel!

QUEX.

Yes, I believe Miss Muriel will place her pretty finger-tips in your
charge, [_partly to_ FRAYNE] while I escort Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack
to view this new biblical picture--[_with a gesture_] a few doors up.
What is the subject?--Moses in the Bulrushes. [_To_ FRAYNE.] Come with
us, Chick.

SOPHY.

It's not quite two, my lord; if you like, you've just time to run in
next door and have your palm read.

QUEX.

My palm--?

SOPHY.

By this extraordinary palmist everybody is talking about--Valma.

QUEX.

[_Pleasantly._] One of these fortune-telling fellows, eh? [_Shaking his
head._] I prefer the gipsy on Epsom race-course.

SOPHY.

[_Under her breath._] Oh, indeed! [_Curtly._] Please take a seat.

[_She flounces up to the desk and busies herself there vindictively._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] Who's that gal? what's her name?

QUEX.

Fullgarney; a protegee of the Edens. Her father was bailiff to old Mr.
Eden, at their place in Norfolk.

FRAYNE.

Rather alluring--eh, what?

QUEX.

[_Wincing._] Don't, Chick!

FRAYNE.

My dear Harry, it is perfectly proper, now that you are affianced to
Miss Eden, and have reformed all that sort of thing--it is perfectly
proper that you should no longer observe pretty women too narrowly.

QUEX.

Obviously.

FRAYNE.

But do bear in mind that your old friend is not so pledged. Recollect
that _I_ have been stuck for the last eight years, with intervals of
leave, on the West Coast of Africa, nursing malaria--

QUEX

[_Severely._] Only malaria?

FRAYNE.

[_Mournfully._] There is nothing else to nurse, dear Harry, on the West
Coast of Africa. [_Glancing at_ SOPHY.] Yes, by gad, that gal is
alluring!

QUEX.

[_Walking away._] Tssh! you're a bad companion, Chick!

[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins him._
SOPHY, _seizing her opportunity comes down to_ POLLITT.

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man?

POLLITT.

Which of the two?

SOPHY.

The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London.

POLLITT.

He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails?

SOPHY.

No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him!

POLLITT.

What tales?

SOPHY.

I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is,
he is engaged to Miss Eden.

POLLITT.

Who is she?

SOPHY.

Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the
world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who
put me into this business. And now my darling is to be sacrificed to
that gay old thing--!

[_The door-gong sounds;_ QUEX _turns expectantly._

POLLITT.

If Miss Eden is your foster-sister--

SOPHY.

Yes, of course, she's six-and-twenty. But the poor girl has been worried
into it by her sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack, whose one idea is Title and
Position. Title and Position with that old rake by her side!

MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ CAPTAIN BASTLING--_a smart,
soldierly-looking man of about eight-and-twenty._ MISS LIMBIRD _returns
to her seat at the desk._

SOPHY.

[_Seeing_ BASTLING.] My gracious!

POLLITT.

What's the matter?

QUEX.

[_Recognising_ BASTLING _and greeting him._] Hallo, Napier! how are you?

BASTLING.

[_Shaking hands with_ QUEX.] Hallo, Quex!

QUEX.

What are you doing here?

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Phew! I hope to goodness Lord Quex won't tumble to
anything.

POLLITT.

Tumble--to what?

[QUEX _introduces_ BASTLING _to_ FRAYNE.

SOPHY.

You don't understand; it's Captain Bastling--the man Muriel is really
fond of.

POLLITT.

What, while she's engaged--?

SOPHY.

[_With clenched hands._] Yes, and she shall marry him too, my darling
shall, if I can help to bring it about.

POLLITT.

You?

SOPHY.

Bless 'em, I don't know how they'd contrive without me!

POLLITT.

Contrive--?

SOPHY.

[_Fondly._] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be manicured
she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [_squeezing_ POLLITT'S
_arm, roguishly_] this kind of thing--"My heart is heavy and my nails
are long. To-morrow--three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha!

POLLITT.

Dearest, let me advise you--

SOPHY.

[_Her hand upon his lips._] Ah, don't lecture! [BASTLING _saunters
forward to attract_ SOPHY'S _attention._] Oh--! [_To_ POLLITT,
_hurriedly._] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [_Caressingly._] Um-m-m!
my love!

[POLLITT _goes out by the window._

SOPHY.

[_Joining_ BASTLING--_formally._] Good day, Captain Bastling.

BASTLING.

Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Dropping her voice._] She'll be here in a minute.

BASTLING.

[_In low tones_--_making a show of examining the articles on the
circular table._] Yes, I had a note from her this morning. [_Glancing
at_ QUEX.] Confounded nuisance--!

SOPHY.

[_Pretending to display the articles._] It's all right; he's got to take
Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack Eden to look at Moses in the Bulrushes--a
picture--

BASTLING.

Sophy--I've bad news.

SOPHY.

No! what?

BASTLING.

My regiment is ordered to Hong-Kong.

SOPHY.

Great heavens! when are you off?

BASTLING.

In a fortnight.

SOPHY.

Oh, my poor darling!

BASTLING.

I must see her again to-morrow. I've something serious to propose to
her.

SOPHY.

[_Half in eagerness, half in fright._] Have you?

BASTLING.

But to-morrow it must be alone, Sophy; I can't say what I have to say in
a few hasty whispers, with all your girls flitting about--and perhaps a
customer or two here. Alone!

SOPHY.

Without me?

BASTLING.

Surely you can trust us. To-morrow at twelve. You'll manage it?

SOPHY.

How can I--alone?

BASTLING.

You're our only friend. Think!

SOPHY.

[_Glancing suddenly towards the left._] Valma's rooms!

[FRAYNE _has wandered to the back of the circular table, and, through
his eyeglass, is again observing_ SOPHY. QUEX _now joins him._

BASTLING.

[_Perceiving them--to_ SOPHY.] Look out!

SOPHY.

[_Taking a bottle from his hand--raising her voice._] You'll receive the
perfume in the course of the afternoon. [_Replacing the bottle upon the
table._] Shall I do your nails?

BASTLING.

Thanks.

[_They move away. He takes his place in the screen-chair; she sits
facing him. During the process of manicuring they talk together
earnestly._

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing_ SOPHY.] Slim, but shapely. Slim, but shapely.

MISS MOON _enters, with a bowl of water. Having adjusted the bowl upon
the arm of the screen-chair, she retires._

FRAYNE.

There's another of 'em. Plain. [_Watching_ MISS MOON _as she goes out._]
I don't know--rather alluring. [_Finding_ QUEX _by his side._] Beg your
pardon.

QUEX.

Didn't hear you.

FRAYNE.

Glad of it. At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for
remarking that a man's virtuous resolutions must be--ha, ha!--somewhat
feeble, hey?--when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the
part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.

QUEX.

Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.

FRAYNE.

[_Dubiously._] H'm!

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